Her gaze drifted toward the back of his apartment. “Your Viking range alone must have cost thousands of dollars. And I’m guessing you don’t even really cook.”
“No, but my mother does. So she has expectations.”
The apartment was dim and quiet...and Jordan was standing too close. So much so that she picked up on the scent that she had started to identify as uniquely his.
As a result of their physical-therapy sessions, she was well-acquainted with the reasons why some women found him attractive. He was all toned and sculpted muscle—with a lean, hard jaw and wicked glint in his green eyes. Even injured, he exuded a powerful magnetism. This close, she had to lift her head to make eye contact, making her even more aware of just how male he was. Now that he was out of his milieu—a sports bar—she could momentarily forget why she didn’t like him. Almost.
They stared at each other in the dim light.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Lost for words?”
“I’ve spent them all.”
“Yeah, I know.”
All that remained unsaid hung between them.
“Come on in,” he said.
“I thought I was getting a car.”
“In a sec.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “But first you look like you could use a shoulder to lean on.”
“Not yours.” To her horror, however, her voice wasn’t as strong and steady as she would have liked. The hour was late, she was tired and she’d had one roller coaster of a day. Suddenly, it was all catching up to her and was just too much. Right now, she wanted to be in fluffy socks and battered sweats and holding a cup of herbal tea. Not dealing with the complexities of her relationship with Jordan. No, wait—they didn’t have a relationship.
Jordan searched her face with an annoyingly penetrating gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Could that high-pitched voice possibly be hers? But fortunately, he hadn’t brought up their conversation at the Puck & Shoot.
“Sera.”
She felt as if she were drowning.
“Aw, hell,” Jordan said.
In the next instant, he’d folded her into his arms, smoothing his hands down her back as he tucked her head under his chin.
She stiffened. “You’re the last person—”
“I know.”
“I don’t even like you. You are irritating and rude and—”
“—ridiculous?”
“This is a delayed reaction,” she sniffed, relaxing into his embrace.
“Understandable.”
“If you breathe a word about this to anyone, Serenghetti...”
“Not likely. Your reputation is safe with me.”
“Great.”
She was more shaken up by her accident than she’d thought. More shaken up by everything.
He stroked his hand up and down her back, lulling her. She leaned into him. They stayed that way as time ticked by for she couldn’t say how long.